‘ “If you’re here,” he says, “you can respond at once when you’re needed.” As he was in Casablanca. That was an awful time. The French were all screaming at us. Only Benchennouf stood up against them. I used to read every number of his paper as soon as it came out. I was at school at the time. And when they arrested the man who was selling New Dawn just outside the school, I took over. I was so angry, so angry at what they were doing, that I wanted to do something. And did until Benchennouf was chased out.’
‘Tell me about Casablanca at the time.’
‘It was horrible. They weren’t just beating people, they were shooting them! I saw two people once and they were dead! They had called the army in and they were shooting. And no one said anything! Apart from Benchennouf.’
‘And Chantale’s father, I gather.’
‘Captain de Lissac. Oh, he was wonderful. I so admired him! In fact, for a time I hero-worshipped him. We all did, at school. We thought he was so brave. To stand up like that! Even though he was a Frenchman and a soldier. But then they hounded him out, too.’
‘Well, I can understand that,’ said Seymour. ‘He was, after all, a soldier and soldiers have to do what they’re told. Or else you don’t have an army.’
‘Yes, but you can’t just do what you’re told. Sometimes you have to go by, well, bigger things. Well, I think that, anyway,’ he said, suddenly overcome by embarrassment.
‘I think it does you credit,’ said Seymour.
‘Thank you. Well, thank you…’
Sadiq lapsed into tongue-tied silence.
But then he burst out again.
‘But what I can’t see is why they had to be so nasty to him. You ought to be able to disagree without being nasty. But they couldn’t. And it went on and on. They couldn’t leave him alone. Even after he had stopped speaking out. “Come on,” some people said. “That’s enough!” And the army began to say that, too. At least, that’s what people said. People began to say that there must be something more in it, something personal. Something personal between de Lissac and Bossu.’
‘Why did Bossu come into it?’
‘Well, he had been organizing things on the company side. I don’t really understand that bit, you’d have to ask Benchennouf. But I suppose that brought them up against each other and maybe that was enough. But it seemed to go further than that. There was a sort of campaign against Captain de Lissac, and people said that Bossu was organizing it. We tried to organize a counter-campaign, but, of course, we were just schoolboys…
‘The headmaster spoke to our parents, and my father said it had to stop. I didn’t want to but my mother said it would only make things worse for Captain de Lissac.
‘It was a terrible time in our household, too. My mother was strongly in favour of Captain de Lissac. All Moroccans were. But, of course, my father worked for Bossu! Our friends, neighbours, stopped speaking to us. I realize now that it was very hard for my father. I suppose that, deep down, he admired Captain de Lissac as much as anybody. But he couldn’t say anything, he had to remain loyal to Bossu. Or, at least, quiet. And I don’t suppose I made things any easier for him.
‘But it wasn’t just Moroccans who objected to this campaign against him. A lot of the French did, too. This is going too far, they said. That’s when people began to mutter that there must be something personal in it. “There’s more in this than meets the eye,” they said. Because Bossu seemed almost demented. People said that it was because Bossu liked to have his own way and the Captain had tried to put a spoke in his wheel. But others said no, that there was bad blood between the two, that there was a history of this.
‘Well, I don’t know about that. All I know is that I thought the Captain was a hero. And Benchennouf, too. He was willing to stand up for Morocco. Unlike some,’ said Sadiq with a baleful glance at Mustapha and Idris.
Chapter Eleven
'Well!’ said Monique. ‘This is a surprise! A pleasant surprise, I must add. But, nevertheless, a surprise. I took it for granted that you, like everyone else, were putting me up on the shelf. Where, to be fair, I probably belong.’
‘I couldn’t resist taking you down again.’
‘Thanks! I was just getting used to independence. But independence is a strange thing, isn’t it? All my life I’ve pursued independence, it was the first thing I wanted, to get away from my parents. Then I wanted to be a woman on her own, a real free spirit. Then I wanted to get away from a man because, tied up with him, there was no independence. Every decision I’ve made I’ve tried to go for independence. And where do I finish up? Less free than half the boring married women of Tangier!’
Seymour laughed.
‘It’s coming,’ he said. ‘It’s coming. I can feel it.’
‘Oh, good. Would you like a drink? Come out on to the balcony. Then we can talk. That is what you’ve come for, I presume. It’s not for my worn face and jaded eyes.’
‘You’re quite right. It is what I have come for. And I’d like a whisky, please. And, actually, it is your worn face and jaded eyes that have brought me here. Because they speak of experience, a woman’s experience, and that’s just what I need.’
‘Good gracious! Your plight must be desperate indeed. I’ll bring the whisky quickly.’
She brought the whisky, two glasses, and sat down beside him. The sun had moved round her little balcony so that they were unable to sit in the shade but it was already losing its heat. Out in the bay the glitter had gone off the sea.
‘Now tell me,’ she said, ‘because I’m all agog to know what, in this country of men, leads you to think that a woman could have anything valuable to contribute.’
‘Almost everyone I’ve talked to,’ said Seymour, ‘has taken it for granted that Bossu’s death was tied up with politics. That it had nothing to do with his personal history. Now why is that?’
‘Morocco is a very political country. Especially just at the moment.’
‘Sure. I can see that. And the temptation is to say, since he was so much bound up with these politics, that he died because of it. But might it not be something more personal?’
‘Like what?’
‘Love.’
‘Jesus! The things you say! Love? What’s that? Tell me about it.’
‘Bossu had a complicated love life.’
‘Not very. I was in a separate compartment. In all senses. And his wife was a simple soul.’
‘Maybe. But I’ve heard the officers. They were all after her. And I’ll bet there were others.’
‘She liked it like that.’
‘I’m sure.’
‘She had a thing about officers. It used to drive Bossu mad.’
‘In general? Or was there one in particular?’
‘Not that I know of. The point is, though, that they were admirers not lovers — Juliette is a great tease.’
‘Perhaps there was a note of disillusion in what they said.’
‘She liked to lead them on and have them panting. And then withdraw.’
‘How unsatisfactory! You don’t think, then, that in the tangled tease life there was an affair so serious as to…?’
‘I don’t think there was anything serious in Juliette’s life, love or otherwise. Perhaps money. Oh, and certainly vanity. But perhaps you shouldn’t ask me. Is a spurned mistress an objective source of information?’
‘Were you spurned?’
‘Not really. Except that he didn’t marry me.’
‘She sees you as a rival.’
‘And I, her.’
‘That, actually, is why I’ve come to you. You are likely to know anything to her discredit. And more than likely to be willing to tell me about it.’
Monique laughed.
‘I hadn’t thought of that,’ she admitted. ‘But, even with all these advantages as a source of information, I am going to disappoint you. I know of no private affair which might have had a bearing on Bossu’s death. If that is what you are asking.’